


A Chance Meeting

by meledea (softorcs)



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Agoraphobic character, Character Study, Explicit Consent, F/F, Flirting, Internal Conflict, Minor Injuries, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-02-19
Packaged: 2019-03-12 06:38:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13541817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softorcs/pseuds/meledea
Summary: In which Borgakh searches for purpose and meaning to her life outside of the stronghold, and finds help in the most unexpected of places, in some of the most unexpected ways.--aka. the fic behind that art I did.





	A Chance Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> With thanks to the wonderful Sheri and the ever patient [Eisoj5](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Eisoj5) for the beta work and support! ♥ ♥
> 
> Art linked in the end notes.

Borgakh was lost. Literally,  _ and  _ figuratively.

A mere ten days had passed since her life had been turned upside down, and despite such short a time, she didn’t think her father, Chief Larak, would accept her return to the stronghold. Not that she desired to return to that life.

It started with a dragon. 

It had attacked the stronghold in the night, setting part of her home aflame before its attention had been diverted elsewhere. Shortly after, she had seen an unearthly glow beyond the boundary wall, and then an outlander had approached to help them douse the flames – a Redguard, who had not only done some remarkable deed for Chief Burguk of the stronghold to the near South that had rewarded them the honour of being blood-kin (which her father had, apparently, known of, and typically neglected to tell her), but also was the  _ Dragonborn _ . Her father had welcomed the man into their home for rest and refuel after the long night, and the man had proceeded to talk candidly with her about his adventures into the early morning, making her longing to escape only fiercer.

And then he had offered to pay her dowry and take her with him.

Her father hadn’t been pleased, a suitor already in mind for her, but he hadn’t fought it – the sum of money offered was higher than her dowry, and Larak had a gleam in his eye that Borgakh had suspected was the hope that his daughter, if not married to another Orc Chief, would be married to the  _ Dragonborn. _

Personally, she’d hoped not.

It wasn’t that the man wasn’t handsome – he had the body of a strong warrior and a pleasing face – or that he was unworthy of an Orc warrior wife – even without his legendary power he was an impressive, fierce fighter – or even that he was a poor candidate for marriage – he was an honourable, friendly man, and kind so far as she could tell. But no, despite his merits, he did not…  _ appeal  _ to Borgakh in the way she wanted; in the way her newfound freedom would allow her to pursue.

Regardless, to her utmost relief he had made no such overtures in the space of the nine days she had spent by his side, assisting him in completing a couple of quests to the best of her ability.

But apparently her best was not enough for him. She had nearly died twice, quietly horrified at the powerful foes he chose to take on and the dangerous places she followed him to. If not for his skill in that strange healing magic, she would probably have died in the first dungeon. And they hadn’t even faced another dragon.

She had seen it coming. She’d felt weak, unworthy of Malacath, a poor representation of her people and their famed battle-hardiness. So when the Dragonborn had sat down with her in Silver-Blood Inn and regretfully stated that it wasn’t working out, she had not been surprised or angry or sad. Just bitterly, horribly disappointed in herself. He had been kind about it, seeming more concerned for her than anything else, but no matter how honourable a death in battle would be, she was still healing, in no condition to fight again so soon, and would only slow him down.

And so they parted ways.

After a few ales she’d decided to wander the city of stone, as beautiful as it was oppressive. She traded in the few items she’d been rewarded with during the quests for a new blade and an upgrade to her armour, talking with Ghorza gra-Bagol for a while about the options outside of a stronghold for an Orc. Ghorza had eagerly offered to train her in the blacksmith trade, and if she showed promise Borgakh could replace her current, and apparently, useless apprentice. It was a good offer, Borgakh knew – if she wasn’t suited to be a mercenary after all, maybe she could be of use in this trade.

It was something she was seriously considering, and so she agreed to return the next morning and discuss it more. After Ghorza closed up for the night Borgakh wandered the darkening maze of the city, picturing herself living within these stone walls, wondering if she could do it.

Too caught up in her thoughts, wondering if she had found a resolution for her uncertain future, she didn’t pay attention to where it was, exactly, that she was going.

Which was how she’d ended up lost, staring at a dead end.

She looked around. There was a stone fire pit and some crates in front of her on the walkway, and a long fall over the barrier to the lower district. She was  _ very  _ high up, but where was she?

Turning back the way she came found herself on a balcony that overlooked the Keep, the roar of the waterfall filling her ears in the quiet of the evening. And behind her, two huge doors in that same coppery Dwemer design that featured throughout the city. She knew it wasn’t an inn, there was only the one in this city, but she hadn’t a clue how to get back there so maybe someone in here could give her directions.

She knocked.

There was no answer at first, so she knocked again, uncomfortable with just barging into an unknown building – what if it was someone’s home? Before she could over-think it, however, the door was pulled open slightly, and a very bemused Breton woman in priestess robes looked at her through the narrow gap.

“Why do you knock? This is a Temple, stranger, you are welcome to come in anytime,” she said, eyes flicking up and down briefly as she took Borgakh in.

“Oh, I… did not realise. I apologise if I disturbed you.”

“No need, the Temple of Dibella is always open, and not just to pilgrims.” The priestess cocked her head slightly, pale hair escaping her golden hood and gave Borgakh a warm smile, but did not open the door any further. “So if you are not here to pray, may I help you in some way?”

“I admit I am lost. If you could direct me, I need to find my way back to the inn for the night.”

The priestess considered it for a moment. “I’d rather not.”

“Well, then.” Borgakh frowned. “I shall be on my way.” 

A laugh rang out, echoing off the metal doors, halting Borgakh in her move to leave and interrupting the flush of embarrassment and irritation that had threatened to overtake her. She turned back in confusion.

The door was open a little more, the priestess a little further back inside but leaning against the other door. “I didn’t mean for you to  _ leave _ !” she exclaimed.

“What did you mean then?”

She opened the door even more, backing further in with a hypnotic swish of her robes and a flash of leg. “I  _ meant  _ to say,” she started, bare feet almost skipping backward now as Borgakh moved across the threshold, “that you co—ah!”

Borgakh was in motion before either woman could really process what happened, and suddenly found herself with a wide-eyed armful of priestess.

They blinked at each other a moment.

Borgakh tried not to think about the soft curves in her hands she could feel even through her thick leather gloves.

Then the priestess shifted her leg slightly and hissed in pain. A glance down showed why – a worn hole in the carpet lining the entrance had caught her foot and tripped her, the hard smooth stone causing her toes to bend awkwardly, pale skin already starting to show signs of nasty bruising. At best, probably a couple of sprained toes; at worst, some broken ones (although, unless this priestess had exceptionally high pain tolerance, her soft pained noises indicated that was unlikely). Stone was unforgiving and brutal, Borgakh knew firsthand. It was lucky she’d caught the woman in time, honestly; she only liked to see cracked skulls on her enemies.

With one hand steadying the small woman, Borgakh gently freed the injured foot from the offending threads, then glanced around – only stone and statues in the immediate proximity, but the warm glow further inside the temple showed promise. Borgakh gently swept the woman up into her arms and carried her towards the shrine.

She grabbed a couple of pillows and a small chair, the small priestess in her arms all the while. Once satisfied with the setup, she shifted the woman down, seating her in the chair and easing her injured foot up onto the pillows she’d placed on the stone steps. There was a dull clang as she dropped her pack to the ground, weapons and gauntlets following, and when she finally turned back, the priestess was watching her with curiosity.

“I’m grateful for your kindness and… gentle strength,” the priestess began, shifting slightly with a gentle hiss of pain, “but you didn’t need to go to such effort.”

“I do not understand. You are hurt. Is it not right that I should assist you?” Borgakh pushed up her thick sleeves, wondering idly if there were supplies for a cold compress in the temple somewhere. In the stronghold snow and ice were easily on hand nearby, but this city was built around water, not ice, so some improvisation was required. She glanced at the glow of the fire pit, wondering how well a hot compress would work instead.

A hand reached over and covered hers. “I didn’t mean you shouldn’t, of course not. I simply mean I can handle it.” The priestess nodded towards a few bottles of healing potions along the table Borgakh had just taken the chair from.

_ Oh _ . Of course. Embarrassment darkened her ears once more, but Borgakh retrieved a bottle anyway, receiving a grateful smile in return that only made her flush darker. She sat down, watching as the priestess sipped at the potion, tilting her head back to expose her pale throat.

Borgakh swallowed in sync with her, if for entirely different reasons. She cleared her throat. “Do you feel better?”

“I do. Thank you.” The toes next to her wiggled as if to prove it, swelling and bruising gone. And then as if to prove it further, she stood, testing her foot before she moved to the steps, shifting the pillows so she could sit next to Borgakh and place a gentle hand on her knee. “I apologise for earlier. I promise I didn’t mean to sound so rude and dismissive. I simply intended to invite you to stay within the temple for the night, rather than suffering a night at that unpleasant inn and lining the pockets of the Silver-Bloods with more gold.”

Borgakh frowned. “Not that I am ungrateful, but that is an unusual thing to offer a stranger.”

The priestess pouted a moment, then slid her left hand into Borgakh’s and gripped it with surprising strength, fingertips dancing over her inner wrist. “Then we shall change that. My name is Senna. I am a priestess of Dibella. And you are?”

Only hesitating a moment, the Orc squeezed back gently and smiled a little. “I am Borgakh—“ she paused, conflicted. She recalled for the briefest moment the conversation she’d had with the Dragonborn in those first days, about establishing an identity for herself outside the stronghold, testing the different names for herself on her tongue. Even earlier this day she’d remained undecided, discussing her options with Ghorza, who for all her welcomed experience and wisdom was unable to help Borgakh find an answer. She’d simply told Borgakh that there would be a moment when she would know, that it would come to her when it mattered most.

This would not have been the situation Borgakh predicted mattering, and yet…

“—the Steel Heart.” And yes, that. That felt right. “Borgakh the Steel Heart,” she repeated, feeling the name meld with her bones, strengthen her, the fear of her independence lessening a little.

Senna had been watching her curiously, but made no comment to Borgakh’s brief internal conflict. “Borgakh the Steel Heart,” she echoed back, mouth sounding out the Orcish consonants with respect and care. “It’s a pleasure and delight to meet you. You are certainly an unexpected blessing this night, caring as you have been to me.” She flicked her grey eyes up and down Borgakh’s form then added, “You’re certainly a blessing on the eyes, too.”

Borgakh blushed hotly, somewhat mortified at the coiling heat in her lower belly. She had long known her preferences, but within an Orc stronghold such choices were virtually non-existent, most women either her relations or one of her father’s wives. There had been a few women that visited from other strongholds whom she had allowed herself a lingering look at, but none had shown any responding interest, whether out of disinterest or a desire to avoid conflict. So to have a woman flirt so openly, be so free with her touch-- Borgakh didn’t know how to respond.

“I, uh. Thank you. And you,” she stammered out, a little helplessly.

With a widening smile Senna shifted to face her more, a thigh pressing against her own, a hand sliding out up Borgakh’s arm and fingers tickling the skin of her inner elbow. Borgakh tried to avoid meeting her eyes, feeling awkward, but then instead found her gaze stuck on the curve of Senna’s breasts underneath her robes and had to drag her eyes back up to the priestess’ face.

There was a knowing look in Senna’s eyes. “If you still wish for directions to the inn I will give them to you, but I very much hope my offer is a little more…” she bit her lip, “appealing?”

Borgakh swallowed, trying to word a response as she dragged her eyes back up from those pink lips. “I…” Her mind was so overwhelmed with reasons to decline she found herself replying without thinking. “If I say yes, I do not think I would get much sleep.”

“Good. I’d be rather disappointed in myself if you did.” Senna flashed her a sultry grin before shifting back, moving her hands and legs away from Borgakh abruptly. Her expression schooled itself into something a little less intense, and Borgakh felt a mix of loss and relief at the sudden change. “I leave the choice to you, Borgakh the Steel Heart.”

Deciding it best to let her pounding heart slow before making such a decision, Borgakh turned her attention to the tall statues that flanked the door at the rear of the temple instead. She had never been inside a temple to another deity, let alone an Aedra. All she had been able to learn of the Divines had indicated that they were serious, lawful entities, to be respected in that restrictive way humans deemed their standard of ‘civilised’.

This Dibella, however… her depiction held an organic, almost primal nature that Borgakh could appreciate. It certainly wasn’t what she’d expected, and she wracked her brain trying to remember what she’d learned about Dibella. Love, was it? No, that was Mara, certainly. Beauty, was it, and the arts? But then this was also the Aedra so beloved by the Forsworn, wasn’t it? Which seemed an… odd choice for them.

“Tell me about Dibella?”

Senna followed her gaze. “What would you like to know?”

“Everything. I know little of the Aedra, just what I could learn from others as I grew up. But I expect what I was taught was full of inaccuracies.”

“Ah. Well, Dibella is the Divine Goddess of Beauty, in all its forms. The most common, simple summary you would hear is Her connection to the arts and aesthetics, to women, to friendship, and the cults devoted to these. The less… child-friendly summary, however, offers a little more insight.” Senna caught Borgakh’s eye, a slow smile stretching across her face. “Dibella is the Goddess of Love, as well as Beauty, and in certain cults both are celebrated in the most  _ intimate _ of ways, on a frequent basis.”

Borgakh was rather proud of herself for not blushing at that, reasoning that it wasn’t the most unexpected revelation considering the rather erotic pose of the statue. Then again maybe she hadn’t stopped blushing since Senna started flirting earlier and just couldn’t tell anymore. And technically Senna hadn’t  _ stopped _ flirting, those grey eyes dark as they gazed at her. Borgakh swallowed, but didn’t look away.

“Which of her cults is this temple devoted to?”

That seductive smile softened ever so slightly. “Not erotic instruction, if that reassures you.”

And, well, that was not the answer Borgakh expected, considering how things had been going. She blinked, confused. “Is it not?”

Senna laughed, her hand resting atop Borgakh’s. “It’s not. Here, we’re devoted to women. It’s a sanctuary as well as a temple; only women are allowed into the inner sanctum, and only with permission.”

“So… your offer…?”

Fingers drifted across the scars on Borgakh’s knuckles, and Senna shrugged. “I devote myself to all areas of Dibella’s worship. Your presence, here and now, unintentional though it may have seemed, has Dibella’s signature all over it. I believe she meant for us to find each other. And if that is not an answer you can accept, then simply know you intrigue me, in all the best ways.”

“You barely know me.”

“I would very much like to know you, Borgakh the Steel Heart.”

That name again, so carefully formed from that mouth. Borgakh’s heart thudded in her chest at how right the name felt, yet still felt a strange twinge at the loss of attribution to her stronghold. It felt final, in a way, despite still holding a thread of familial connection. She wondered how her mother would react.

Borgakh watched as the pale fingers trace patterns across her bare wrist, up her forearms, tickling the dark hairs there. She thought about how lost she’d felt before she had found herself outside this very Temple. She thought about how within minutes of being inside she’d settled the storm inside her and chosen her name. She thought about how she was now being offered the chance to experience something her old life would have likely denied her, and how intoxicating and liberating the possibility was.

She thought about how she didn’t feel as afraid anymore.

“I left my stronghold.” It wasn’t quite what she meant to say, but there was a relief in saying it out loud. Senna looked surprised a moment before giving her an encouraging nod. “Not out of rebellion, but not of banishment either. I would have been married to another Chief within the year, but was given an opportunity by a stranger, so took it. I chose my own fate, the chance to prove my worth as a warrior, to fight until I was granted a death worthy of Malacath.” She didn’t miss Senna’s subtle flinch at that, but continued without acknowledging it. “It did not work out. Maybe it was not my fate, or maybe it was; maybe it was meant to bring me here.

“Most Orcs remain within their strongholds, but after leaving the way I did, I am unsure if I can return without bringing shame with me. Were I sure of my place in Mor Khazgur, I might call myself Borgakh gra-Khazgur, after my stronghold, or gra-Larak after my father. Were I sure of my skill-set, I might name myself after that. But I am sure of none of these things. What I am sure of is my mother’s love for me, and no matter how she might feel about my choices, she gave me the name I have chosen, and I will wear it with pride, whatever I become.”

Her eyes met Senna’s. “Malacath teaches us to meet our fate, whatever it may be,” she murmured. “Orcs are rarely known to be an instrument of the plans of Aedra, but it does seem fate has led me here.”

“Would you consider devoting yourself to Dibella?” Borgakh froze up, eyes wide, and upon seeing her expression Senna shifted, looking apologetic. “I would never suggest you give up your worship of Malacath, nor make it a condition of our relations. But many people find it suits them to worship more than one of the Aedra and Daedra, that it helps them find support and guidance in areas of their lives that they may not get from worshipping just one.”

This wasn’t news to Borgakh – it was common throughout Tamriel. Just… less common amongst her people. But not unheard of, especially not for those who looked for life outside their stronghold. She wasn’t opposed to the idea, necessarily, but… “Why Dibella?”

Senna brushed her scarred knuckles again briefly, then withdrew her hands and created space between them, meeting Borgakh’s eyes with sincerity. “She led you here, when you were at your most lost. She bolstered my strength to bring you inside her Temple. There is a longing for love inside you, and a desire for companionship and belonging with those you can consider your equal, an escape from male domination. These are things you can find here, under Her blessing.”

“You truly think I can get all this from her?”

Leaning forward, Senna smiled. “Of course. And if you’re unsure, well… there is no harm in trying,” she whispered.

Her hands cupped Borgakh’s neck, thumbs brushing just below her ears. Borgakh blinked slowly at her. “I have no experience in such things.” She swallowed. “Could you teach me?”

“It would be my pleasure, Borgakh the Steel Heart.”

“Please—“ Borgakh swallowed again, unsure where to look or where to place her hands. “Just call me Borgakh, for now.”

She watched those pink lips form the name, the tongue flick around the sounds, barely hearing it, whether due to the near whisper or the pounding of her own heart. Breath ghosted across her lips and she shivered, closing her eyes in anticipation, overwhelmed, and, and, and…

It had always seemed such a strange thing to make fuss about. Growing up in a stronghold, surrounded by other Orcs who weren’t generous with affection or touch, where sexual intimacy was restrictive and insular, and love was familial… romance and everything associated were fanciful, impractical outlander things. She had allowed herself a few moments in her life to imagine what it would be like, but kissing someone had always seemed unappealing and awkward; if she were ever to have the good fortune of choosing a lover, she could think of better places for her mouth to explore.

And yet… her heart could break free of her chest at this moment, so lost she was in this kiss. The smooth slide of Senna’s mouth as it moved with care across her chapped lips and around her tusks, as she gently coaxed Borgakh to mimic each movement, rewarding her with little licks until their tongues were curling, tasting, until they were breathing each other in and—

Senna pulled back suddenly, both of them gasping and flushed. There was someone else there, right behind them, _another_ _priestess_ , and not only was Senna straddling her thigh but Borgakh had her hands up under her robes, cupping her _actually_ _very_ _bare_ bottom, and—

“Dibella’s blessings on you both, but  _ please _ take this somewhere else before we get a visitor who gets  _ the very wrong idea _ about this particular Temple?”

Humiliated, Borgakh pulled her hands back like she’d been burned. Senna cast her a worried look but rose to her feet with more grace and strength than she’d previously seemed capable of. Only when she’d adjusted her robe and turned to the other priestess to grumble at her did Borgakh glance down, noticing with fascination the slick smear on her leather pants. But then she was pulled to her feet and into the corner, and Senna cupped her face in those small soft hands again, grounding her.

“Are you okay?”

“Just… a little overwhelmed.”

“Would you like to stay? I won’t force you, Borgakh, I give you my word on that. The Inn isn’t far, just follow the steps down and turn left at—“

She stopped Senna mid-sentence with a hand to the priestess’ mouth, only realising belatedly that it was the same hand that just touched the slick on her leg and  _ Senna had definitely just realised that too _ . Borgakh stared at her, at the the pink flush across her cheeks, at the kiss-swollen mouth that had so eagerly explored her own, at the way she perched on her toes just to try and meet Borgakh at eye level.

“I would like to stay.”

The responding smile was almost as blinding as the midday sun on fresh snow, followed by a series of kisses so distracting that she couldn’t for the life of her remember how much time has passed or how she got there –  _ through those heavy doors, then downstairs, somewhere?  _ – but they were on a soft mattress in a small dimly lit room, and Senna had just carefully placed Borgakh’s chest piece on the stone floor, next to the rest of her armour. Borgakh watched, breathless, at the skin that revealed itself where the priestess’ robe loosened; her hood was down, now, the subtle gold paint on her face now gleaming in the low light, her fine fair hair shining. Senna watched her back, the same interest clear on her face.

And oh, how Borgakh wanted her too. Like her heart was being pulled by a rope and she was helpless but to follow. She wanted that mouth back on hers, those hands on her skin, even if she didn’t understand quite what to do.

“We don’t have to do anything, if you’re not ready or not comfortable.” Senna’s hands were clasped on her lap and it was all Borgakh could do to stop imagining,  _ wishing _ those hands would touch her. She dragged her eyes back up, focusing on what Senna was saying. “If you just want to sleep, it’s fine, I promise. When I offered you a bed I meant it. This is a sanctuary for all women, no matter race or creed or background.”

But Borgakh shook her head. “I want you to stay. I  _ want you _ , I do. But I meant what I said, I have never done this before – any of it.”

“None of it?”

Borgakh shook her head again.

“Not even kissing?”

“Orcs do not do kissing.”

Surprise flitted across Senna’s face, her mouth dropping open. “Huh.” Then she smiled slyly and pressed a finger to Borgakh’s chest. “Well, this Orc does.”

A flush formed across Borgakh’s cheeks again. “This Orc enjoys it very much.”

The smile widened and Senna leaned closer, balancing herself with a hand on Borgakh’s thigh as her finger moved upwards. “And would this Orc like to do it more, or experience other things she’s been missing out on?”

“I expect she will enjoy anything you show her.”

“Well, then, lover. First and most important lesson – if you want to stop, you say so. Anything, anytime, for any reason, tell me and I will stop. If you don’t like something, say so. If you do, tell me that too.  If you want something, you just need to tell me.”

Borgakh couldn’t speak for a moment. _Choice. Control._ She blinked at the slight wetness in her eyes and leaned in close, hands cupping Senna’s face and marveling at her soft, warm cheeks. 

“Kiss me again?”

Senna closed the gap between them, pressing forward until she was in Borgakh’s lap again. The brush of sensitive skin against sensitive skin made the Orc gasp, Senna licking into her mouth as she did. The feel of bare breasts pressed against her own, the soft rolls of the Priestess’ belly against her own scarred and muscled stomach - it was overwhelming, left her shaking. Senna’s mouth moved down her neck, along her collar, traced a scar down, down, and then a tongue flicked over her nipple and Borgakh gasped louder. Teeth scraped lightly and she moaned, heat between her legs tripling, and building to an ache as Senna kept working at it. 

They shifted on the bed, legs tangling until they could rub against the other’s thigh, fingers digging into backs and hips, grunts and gasps filling the room as they chased their pleasure. Borgakh wondered, oddly, if this was like what casting magic was like: the rush of sensation throughout the body, the hyper-awareness of every touch, the pounding of blood in her ears. She came apart imagining it, whole body thrumming and shivering as she fell weakly backwards. 

Senna landed on top of her, pressing kisses on her sternum, fingers toying with the hairs on her belly, stroking her side gently as she caught her breath. When Borgakh exhaled loudly the Priestess gave her stomach a last smacking kiss then moved back up to meet her eyes. “How do you feel?”

Borgakh wracked her brain for a way to describe it, how every part of her felt like it was… was glowing like the sun, shimmering like the aurora, singing like nirnroot, rushing like the river. “Alive,” she said, helplessly, lips curling up in joy. “ _ Free _ .” 

 

…

  
  


They were curled next to each other, quiet, content from hours of gentle and curious exploration, exhaustion now creeping in. Borgakh’s mind wouldn’t rest, however, as she wondered where one went from here, whether leaving this behind tomorrow would be expected or considered rude. What little she’d learned from the Dragonborn about social interaction outside of a stronghold hadn’t included anything about intimate relations, and she could hardly get up and consult Ghorza right now. That just left the woman currently tracing the scars on her forearm for Borgakh to consult on the matter, and… well. That was probably the best idea, actually. The woman was certainly not likely to laugh at her.

But the thought of discussing this then reminded her of the other decisions she needed to make about her future, and suddenly that feeling of uncertainty pressed threateningly at the edges of her mind, ready to take over.

“What will you do now?”

Borgakh startled. She wondered for a fleeting moment if priestesses could read minds, if perhaps her Aedra bestowed her with such a blessing - it would certainly have explained a lot from the past few hours. She fought back another blush and focussed on the question, grateful for the opportunity to talk about it.

“I am not sure. If I do well I might be taken on as an apprentice blacksmith here in Markarth; it would be good, working alongside my kin. But I would miss fighting. It is in my blood, my being. I do not want to give that up yet.”

“Hmmm.” Senna idly traced patterns on Borgakh’s belly. “Well, there are many skirmishes and conflicts in the Reach, I am sure you’d do well as a sellsword, should you choose that. Or further afield, of course. If that is what you wish, or where the money takes you.”

Borgakh blinked at the ceiling, surprised. “You are suggesting I stay in the area,” she stated, something warm unfurling in her chest. 

“It’s an option, isn’t it?” Senna replied, craning her head up to meet the Orc’s gaze. 

It was. And it wasn’t as though Borgakh hadn’t already been considering it, hadn’t already been suggested alongside an offer of work by the closest she had to kin outside of the stronghold. But to have it suggested again by someone to whom stood to gain nothing financially from her presence felt… different, somehow. Different than her offer of intimacy, than her open invitation into her faith. Borgakh felt warm again, and light; her heart pounded in her chest. She swallowed back the threat of a tremble in her voice.

“It is.” 

Senna pressed a kiss to her jaw. “One with definite benefits, too, if you so desire.”

With a shiver in response, Borgakh hummed and met her mouth. Senna smiled and clambered back upright to straddle her thighs again. She stretched forward, kissing her deeply, already used to working around the tusks.

“Will you stay?” she whispered. Senna’s breath was cool across Borgakh’s wet mouth as she guided the Orc’s fingers back inside her, Senna’s own fingers returning the favour. “Even if just for a while?”

Kissing her back, Borgakh curled her fingers and rubbed her thumb in circles across Senna’s clit until she cried out softly.

 

“Gladly.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> So it's been two years since I did this [art](http://meledea.tumblr.com/post/140125420625) and began working on this fic, and it's been nearly done for _way too long!_ Thank gods I kicked my own ass and got this posted. (Fun fact, this fic started out as a _really explicit PWP_ , but somehow turned into this? Go figure.) 
> 
> I like to believe that the no-beds/never-sleeping Priestesses thing is a rumour they're just super committed to, and there's actually secret sleeping quarters hidden somewhere.
> 
> Also, while it's tagged, I realise that it's not directly addressed in this fic (just a blink-and-miss-it mention) that Senna is agoraphobic. When I get around to continuing this storyline (I have at least two more parts planned) this will be addressed properly, but there's a lot of research I would do first, not having an anxiety disorder myself!


End file.
